


Okay, So I Walked Into Your Bookshop And Hey, You're Cute

by ServantOfMischief



Series: Soft Comforts [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale has his bookshop, Babylon, Beelzebub - Freeform, Botanics professor Crowley, Crowley has a lovely family, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Dorks in Love, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Final part of Soft Comforts, Final part of the coffee shop au, Happy Ending, I promise, Ineffable Idiots, Jean the waitress is the ultimate wingman, M/M, More tags and characters will most likely be added, Tonya - Freeform, aziraphale - Freeform, bookshop owner Aziraphale, crowley - Freeform, you'll get what you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-29 07:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20792795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ServantOfMischief/pseuds/ServantOfMischief
Summary: Jean is willing to bet she's got it right. Aziraphale is willing to bet against her, even if he, by doing so, is betting against himself too. But that's just how it is, because the world isn't that convenient. Also, Tonya's got her uncle wrapped around her little finger. Mostly.I do not consent to my work being reposted, or used in any unofficial apps like Fanfic Pocket Archive Library (Unofficial) or the like!





	1. Ineffable Idiots

**Author's Note:**

> This is the final part of the Soft Comforts series. I am literally blown away by the response this series' got. Thank you all so much for your encouraging words. I got a good laugh and motivation to do more!
> 
> I do not consent to my work being reposted, or used in any unofficial apps like Fanfic Pocket Archive Library (Unofficial) or the like!

When Crowley exits his car outside Tonya’s kindergarten, he is _still_ thinking about the blonde and his bookshop. He really hopes Tonya likes the books he’s found, not just _only_ for her enjoyment, but also because it’ll give him an excuse to go back to the bookshop to find more books. Because, really, he wants to go back there. Being smiled at like that, even if it is just a polite customer smile, it made his day. Not that he wasn’t already in a good mood because he’s really looking forward to having Tonya over again. He made his preparations yesterday, having made sure his streaming services automatically went to the children’s sections, bought the appropriate amount of snacks for their Friday evening and made the bed in the guestroom, and he’s got the books resting on the tiny night table there as well. He’ll let the kid decide what to eat for dinner, before they’ll maybe play some cards, or a boardgame. The girl loves those, even if they are only two people playing.

He’s barely made it inside the kindergarten, barely toed his shoes off before he nearly falls over with the force of an excited five-year-old girl crashing into his legs. He swings his arms wide and just barely manages to hang onto the doorframe before he falls over.

“Uncle Tony!”

“Here there, kiddo. Nice body-slam.” The girl giggles and shakes her head good-naturedly at him, pulling back enough to waggle one finger at him, as if she’s about to teach him something very important.

“That wasn’t a body-slam, uncle Tony. That was me entu-enthusss- that was me greeting you, eagerly.” He chuckles at that and pulls her back enough to be able to crouch down, ruffling her hair affectionately and she giggles at the action.

“You’re absolutely right. Do you want to leave immediately, or do you want to play some more?”

“Play a little bit more, but only a little bit!” She says and pulls on his hand, dragging him back inside to where the others are.

“Snake man!” The others yell and he is so startled because he certainly didn’t expect it. Then again, he has a snake tattoo on the side of his face he should have perhaps covered up with something before walking inside a kindergarten, but it’s too late now, isn’t it? He hopes Babylon won’t get any trouble with him after the weekend, if any of the kids here tell their parents about the weird man with a snake on his face.

“Hello, Mr. Crowley.” The kindergarten teacher, Newton, smiles nervously and the redhead nods in greeting. Nice enough lad, Crowley thinks, just a bit jumpy. How one can be as nervous as this young man, and still be surrounded by children he is supposed to look after and teach is beyond Crowley, but Tonya likes the man, and that is enough for the ginger.

“Hullo, Pulsifer. How’s she been today?” Crowley asks as he takes a seat by one of the tables.

“In a rather good mood. She’s been telling everyone how she’s going to spend time with her favourite uncle this weekend, and that you’re going to stay up way later than she normally does.”

“I’m her only uncle.” Crowley rolls his eyes behind his shades. “And as for me letting her stay up late, hah, no. Her mom would kill me.” He mumbles. But they are going to have an enjoyable weekend, that he does believe. So when Tonya runs up to him and begins to tug on his hand, whining for show that she wants to go home now, he makes a show of _not _wanting to leave just yet.

“Uncle Tony!” She whines loudly, about ready to stomp on his foot for his teasing.

“Fine, fine. Where’s your backpack?” He relents, trying to hide his laughter as she pouts up at him.

“You’re not funny, you know.”

“I’m the funniest man on the face of the earth.” He retorts.

* * *

Aziraphale closes shop for lunch, and heads down the street to the coffee shop. He knows Jean is in today, and he has something he really needs to discuss with her. For example, how did Anthony J. Crowley end up in his shop? Because Aziraphale refuses to believe that the man just simply wound up in shop on his own. Absolutely not, no way, the world isn’t that bloody convenient. So he enters the coffee shop, sees the waitress by a table, giving her a look that clearly tells her that they need to talk. He finds himself a table and plops down, waiting for her to come to him. When she does, she has brought along a cup of tea and a piece of cake. She knows she’s in trouble, and she’s brought peace offerings, clever, clever girl.

Aziraphale already finds it hard to be annoyed with her.

“Hello, Aziraphale. It’s been a while. I just want to thank you for your help with my book report.” And sweet talking. Already. She is making a tremendous effort at not digging her own grave, isn’t she?

“You’re very welcome, Jean. But that isn’t why I’m here.”

“Then why are you?” She asks and he levels her with a look that tells her how he doesn’t believe for a second that she doesn’t know why he wants to speak with her. She tries to keep the mask, act like she’s actually clueless, and when he almost, _almost, _believes her and falls for it, she sighs and leans back in her seat, pulling her hair out of her ponytail and brushing her fingers through it.

“He kept asking if you were here when he came around.” She admits, and keeps running a hand through her hair, a nervous tic he realizes. “And I tell him no every time, because you aren’t here at the same time. And then he asked if I knew of any bookshops in the area. I promise, Aziraphale, I was just being helpful to my customer.” Now that does make sense, but there are several other bookshops in the area she could have directed the redhead to. But she had sent him straight to Aziraphale, without so much as a warning, and he had broken his favourite tea-cup in the process.

Aziraphale is not going to forget that.

He tells her he would have very much enjoyed having been given a warning, at the very least, and Jean apologizes, before leaning forward in her seat, elbows firmly planted on the table as she stares at him with stars in her eyes.

“Tell me! How did it go? Was he surprised to learn you were the artist?” Aziraphale shouldn’t be so startled by her questioning, because she does that often. Spews hundreds of questions and just waits for him to answer them in order. He takes a sip of his tea, and a piece of his cake, taking his time before he answers her. She is sorely disappointed to hear that Crowley does _not_ know that Aziraphale is the artist, that he just came in, exchanged pleasantries and names and took off with the books he had bought. She pouts at him, crossing her arms over the table.

“That can’t be it? He didn’t even ask a little bit? About you? Wasn’t even a bit flustered or anything like that?” Well, Aziraphale thinks, the redhead had nearly pulled an entire shelf with him when the blonde had startled him, but he doesn’t tell her that. Instead he tells her that the man simply came for some books, and that he might return should his niece like them. That causes Jean’s eyes to sparkle again, and Aziraphale realizes he might have said too much. He’s given her a bone to latch onto.

“So he’s coming back?”

“I never said that-“

“You said he said that if his niece likes the books, he’ll come back for more.” She accuses him. “That’s what you said!”

“No, no, it won’t happen, the books are old, she won’t like them-“

“I am willing to bet on that!” Jean says, slapping her hand on the table.

“I am betting crepes at the Ritz for it!”

“The Ritz is expensive!” Aziraphale says, shaking his head vehemently. “Besides, I won’t bet against you.”

“Okay then, I bet you that cup of tea and cake that he’ll show up before two weeks have gone by." Jean smirks slyly at him, and he rolls his eyes. She won’t back down on this, he knows her well enough by now. And the cake is pretty good. He reaches his hand out and she takes it, shaking firmly.

“I’m winning this.” She tells him. “Thought it’ll be a win for you too, in the end.”

“You’re winning nothing, because he won’t come back, and that’s that.” Aziraphale tells her firmly, though the words leave him with a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Truly. He knows he’ll probably very much enjoy it if Anthony J. Crowley returns to the bookshop, even if it’s just to buy more fairy tale books he can read to his niece. It’s such a soft thing, isn’t it? How many uncles have their nieces on sleepovers and read them fairy tales? Or perhaps that is a normal thing? Aziraphale wouldn’t know, not really, he’s not very close to his own family, though he guesses that if he had any nieces or nephews and they ever wanted him to read for them, he would have jumped for the chance.

“Eat the damn thing! It costs a little, you know?” Jean says, her Scottish brogue heavy in the air as she gestures to the cake. Aziraphale scoffs but eats it. It’s too good to pass up on anyways, especially for free.

“You’re never going to get this back, you know.” He warns her a final time and she smirks at him in a way that makes him, for a tiny little moment, regret his words. Because Jean is looking like the cat that got the cream, like she wanted this kind of reaction from him. And Aziraphale, in a fleeting moment, does regret his words.

Because he really wants the redhead to come back again.

* * *

Crowley realizes, a bit late into the sleepover, that perhaps, just _maybe_, he gave Tonya a bit more sugar than he should have. The girl is literally bouncing in her seat on the couch, yelling for Elsa to fight back against the people calling her a witch, to prove that she is good because no one who is as pretty as Elsa can be cruel.

How utterly, utterly naïve, but Crowley enjoys the naivety.

They’ve watched the film countless of times already, Crowley knows all the songs by heart, not that he will admit to that to anyone else than Tonya and Babylon, because Babylon is in the same boat. Not a single Disney movie passes by without him having to sing at least three of the bloody songs in them. It’s enjoyable, even though the movie isn’t to his taste, really, because he isn’t all that into the children’s genre in Disney. But the evening goes by with the two of them watching a few movies, and the girl getting a second glass of soda before he cuts her off.

“I told you that you’d get at most two.” Crowley says as he fills a glass with water afterwards as she pouts up at him.

“But it’s just the two of us, uncle Tony!”

“And that’s why you thought you’d get more?” She sets bright, big, pleading eyes on him and he pauses, feeling a tug and a pull, and a traitorous thought in the back of his head asking him what the harm is, Babylon would never find out, and it’s just this one time, yeah? Isn’t this just like the times when he, Beelzebub and Babylon would tip-toe around their home at night when they were younger, secretly drinking the soda their parents had in the fridge? He shakes his head and hands her the glass of water.

“Your pout can only get you so far kiddo. It’s only water for you from now on.”

“That’s mean!”

“I’ll be drinking water too, I’ll suffer with you.” He placates her, and they finish the movie. It’s a bit later than usual when he manages to put her to bed, and he holds up the two books he bought at the bookshop with that cute shop owner he really wants to see again, because, again, cute blonde with pretty blue eyes, finely manicured hands and his nice words and-

“Uncle Tony?”

“Right, which one?” He says and she picks the one to the left.

“The three Billy-goats Gruff. Right.” He says and opens it as he takes a seat on the bedside.

“Once upon a time there were three Billy-goats, who were going to go up the hill-side to make themselves fat- Wait what now?”

“Uncle Tony! Read properly!”

“Right!”


	2. A Fortunate Case of Sticky Fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloody. Fucking. Useless. Bookshelf! Oh, hi there, Aziraphale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments from the first chapter moved me to tears. I was at work, it was slow, I checked my mail, I began crying. I literally stood in the shop CRYING. You guys are just the absolute sweetest, thank you so much! You're all so good, so here you go, the moment you've all been waiting for!

“Fuck, shit, fuck!” Crowley growls as he gives up on finding his book. It is supposed to be on this bookshelf, and he needs it for a reference for his next lecture on Monday morning. One of his oldest books, from his own days as a student, and he bloody well can’t find it anywhere. He can’t order it online, because if by some stroke of luck he can find it, it won’t arrive on time.

“Bloody useless bookshelf!” He snarls at the inanimate piece of furniture as he starts pacing. “What’s the point of you?” He won’t find it in any bookshop either, considering it’s outdated, but that’s also why he wants it. Some of its content is still pretty damn accurate and valid, and… it was one of his very first books on botany, a gift from Beelzebub and Babylon from when they were kids. It’s got a lot of sentimental value for him. But he seriously needs it, and he can’t just find it in any old bookshop- He stops short, arms dropping to his sides as he remembers the waitress’ words: The owner’s got a wide array of books and genres, I’m sure you’ll find something there.

Aziraphale Fell’s bookshop!

Crowley remembers how many of the books there that are positively _ancient_! There might be a chance yet! And if not, well, he will have been able to see the cutie again. It is, kind of, a win-win situation.

Right?

So the redhead grabs his jacket, wallet and keys, and jogs out, taking the stairs down because the elevator is far too slow, and leaps into his Bentley. Only when he’s half-way there does he realize that the sky is darkening and that it is Thursday evening, and that it might not be open at this hour. He might have to come back tomorrow. He takes a chance, and when he parks outside, he can see the lights are on. Might as well take a chance, right? Since he’s already here, yeah? So he checks himself out in the rear-view mirror, combs a hand through his slightly longer hair a few times until he’s satisfied.

Only when he’s climbing the steps does he feel nervous. What if he’s actually closed and is just tidying up inside? Crowley will look rather stupid then, won’t he? Suddenly the door creaks open, and the blonde owner pokes his head out, a small, curious smile on his face.

“My dear boy, you’ve been standing there for quite a while. Do you need something?” Yes, Crowley needs something. He needs his book because holding it during lectures is comforting, because it’s his and he’s always used it during the subject he’s about to introduce his class to, and he needs this beautiful man’s phone number because he’s pretty sure he’ll die if he doesn’t because the way Aziraphale called him “my dear boy” is both the sweetest and hottest thing ever and Crowley wants to tell him this.

“Ngk.” He says instead, and Aziraphale blinks at up him, confused, but oh so blessedly patient. He’s an angel, Crowley thinks.

“Botanic book.” He finally manages to articulate after a series of stuttering. “Y-You’re still open? If not, I’ll come back later- I-“

“Oh no, still open. Come on in.” Aziraphale opens the door wider as he steps back to give room for the taller man to enter.

“So, botanic was it? I do have some books on the topic, but they’re awfully old, I’m afraid.” The blonde says as he leads Crowley deeper into the store.

“Perfect.” Crowley says. “The one I’m looking for is outdated.”

“Ah, then I truly might be able to help you. Do you have a title?”

“Nursing and raising the exotics 101.”

“Oh, it is for studying?” Aziraphale seem to light up at the thought and Crowley licks his lips.

“ ‘m a botanic professor. Got a class on Monday, need the book.” He says quietly, throat feeling dry. He loves plants, he enjoys nursing and raising them, and he _lives _for teaching the subject. It’s just… most people he’s met, with the exception of his siblings and his students, think it’s boring or a useless subject. Apparently Aziraphale does not and that makes some weird things happen inside Crowley’s chest.

“Oh you must know a lot then? I am awfully with greenery, truly. A friend of mine gave me a potted plant, and I swear, only three weeks later it had died. Do you have any tips for me? So I can avoid any embarrassment should I ever get a plant as a gift again?”

“Er, sure? I can do that, no problem. It all depends on the type of plant, really. Some don’t require much water, or much light, and some need a lot of both, or a certain room temperature.”

“Oh I’ll be sure to ask next time, so that I can care for it adequately.”

_‘Please care for me.’_ Crowley thinks as Aziraphale stops and pulls a book out of a shelf.

“Here we go.” Aziraphale says, victoriously holding up the book for him to see. “It’s an 1987 copy, but-“

“That’s it.” Crowley says, not believing his luck today. An exact replica of his own book, exactly what he needs. He’s being unnaturally luck today, it’s almost a bit creepy, really.

“That’s good then. Glad I could be of help.” Aziraphale says, handing the book over to the redhead.

“You’re a bloody angel, you know that?” Crowley blurts out, and Aziraphale blushes a bright red. Only when Crowley looks up and sees Aziraphale’s flustered state does it click in his brain what he just said. Crowley’s cheeks turns nearly as red as his hair.

“As in, er, you- I- You’ve saved my ass, literally.” He sputters and wants to kick himself. So. Bloody. Smooth. Idiot.

“Oh, well, that’s rather sweet.” Aziraphale makes an attempt at gathering himself as he nervously wrings his hands in front of him.

“Yeah, um, sorry, it sounded weird, but really, I am so lucky you have this. You’ve saved me from making an ass out of myself in front of my students. So really, thanks.” Ah, that is much smoother, and Crowley is satisfied with being able to somewhat control his mouth again. Now, if only he can keep that control…

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Aziraphale laughs quietly and Crowley nods.

“I’d really rather not. Got a reputation to keep and all that jazz.” The redhead says as he allows a short laugh to escape himself as well. There’s a short awkward silence as they just stand there, until Aziraphale edge around him.

“Shall we?” He gestures down the rows of bookshelves.

“Oh, right! Yeah.” Crowley follows, a little bit disappointed that it’s over already, but he does have a lecture to prepare for, anyways. As Aziraphale rings it up, he asks if Crowley’s niece liked the books.

“Oh, yeah, she loved them! Speaking of that, you have more, yeah?”

“Oh yes, I have a rather big collection.”

“Great! Mind if I stop by next week?” Aziraphale blinks, surprised, because never once has a customer _asked _if it is okay for them to come by again. It’s not something you ask a shop owner really, but he finds it rather sweet that the redhead asks if it’s okay for him to come by and buy some more books.

“Not at all. You’re welcome any time.” Even as he says it, he feels that heat in his cheeks return. He really hopes the other man doesn’t notice.

“Great!” The other man squeaks, and Aziraphale blinks. “So, uh, see you next week then!” And then he is stumbling towards the door and is gone in the matter of moments. Aziraphale is left standing behind, staring at the door in confusion, before he follows after and locks the door and flips the sign. He stands there for a moment, sees the redhead dive into his car and speed away, before he drops the blinds and heads back towards where he had been sitting. His guest is curled up in her chair, a mug of cocoa in her hand. Jean looks very amused as she raised a brow at him, the book in her lap forgotten.

“You closed shop three hours ago.” She says. Six simple words that has him flushing bright red for a third time in the last fifteen minutes.

“Oh be _quiet!” _

“Yeah yeah.” She says, holding out a hand, wiggling her fingers. “Cough them up, lover boy.” Aziraphale wants to tell her that he does not actually enjoy being called that new nickname she has come up with for him, even if it does sound pleasant in her accent, but instead he just pulls out his wallet and hands her the money he owes her. A bet is a bet, after all.

Crowley, when he enters his apartment, realizes that it’s actually way later than he had thought it was when he had been. Because when he enters his apartment and glances at the clock, he sees that it is actually ten in the bloody evening. Aziraphale Fell truly kept odd opening hours. His phone rings, and Babylon’s name flashing across the screen. It’s odd for her to call this late, but he answers anyway.

“_Anthony._” She sounds almost apologetic and he raises a brow.

“Babylon? What is it?”

“_It’s Tonya. I’m sorry.” _

“What about Tonya?” He asks, feeling anxiety rise up in him. The girl better be alright, or else.

“_When she visited you last, she brought a book home with her.” _

“Book? What book?”

_“Your ‘Nursing and Raising the Exotics 101’. I’m sorry, I didn’t notice before I emptied her backpack properly. Do you need it back urgently? I know it’s your favourite.” _Crowley blinks, and looks down at the copy he’s holding is his hand. He just went out and bought a book for absolutely nothing. But then he remembers Aziraphale’s smile, and their talk and how he’s going to go back and he’s welcome to go back any time he wants. And it doesn’t matter.

“Oh, right, I was wondering where it went off to. Uh, no, I don’t need it, not right now. She can keep it, for a little while, as long as she doesn’t damage it.”

“_Oh believe me, she knows exactly how important that book is, and she is very sorry.” _

“You weren’t too hard on her, were you?”

“_No.” _Babylon sighs on the other side. “_But I made it abundantly clear that she can’t just take things from your apartment, no matter how whipped you are.” _

“I am not whipped.” Crowley snaps.

“_For her you are, Anthony, and everyone knows it.” _

“… I hate you.”

“_Love you too. We’ll come by sometime during the week, bring the book with us.” _

“Right. I’ll prepare some dinner, we can all eat together.”

“_Sounds nice. Good night, brother.” _

“Good night.” The call ends, and Crowley looks down at the book in his hands again. This all happened because Tonya had a tiny little case of sticky fingers. He’ll forgive her for that, because something good came out of it.

Now, how can he slip the blonde his number without it appearing like he’s absolutely desperate to gain the man’s attention?


	3. Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony J. Crowley loves his niece and spending time with her, he really does. What he doesn't enjoy though, is being called out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! For those who haven't seen it yet, pinkpiggy93 has drawn some more art for this story! Please go check it out at her tumblr blog!

It’s not like Crowley planned this. Sure, he’s come over with some fancy pastries which cost a whole lot, a lot more than he thought any baked goods have the right to cost anyhow, and he’s standing at the stairs of the bookshop at what is normally lunchtime, at any other profession he knows anyways. But he most certainly didn’t plan this.

If he had, he would have called ahead, not that he knows the store’s number, and asked the man out, not that he _is_ going to ask the man out. Because they don’t know each other. They’ve barely met two times, _calm down everyone!_ But the bookshop owner has been a tremendous help, and Crowley feel like giving something back, even if all the help he got was simply the shop-owner doing his job. So, Crowley takes a deep breath, lifts his hand and opens the door.

“Hello?” He can’t see Aziraphale, but he can hear people talking in the back.

“Just a moment!” He can hear Aziraphale’s voice carry out into the shop, and so Crowley waits by the register, and blinks when he sees Aziraphale, and the waitress from the coffee shop, come out of the backroom. The woman is clutching a book close to her chest, as if it is the most precious thing she’s ever come across.

“Thank you so much, Aziraphale. This means a lot to me. I didn’t think it was possible to get a copy.” The waitress says, looking almost starstruck.

“What are friends for?” The blonde says and she envelops him in a tight hug.

“Thank you so much! He’ll love it, I’m sure. I’ll see you later.” She sees Crowley, gives him a nod of acknowledgement before she hurries out the door, beaming like the sun itself.

“You know her?” Crowley asks the moment she’s out the door.

“Oh, hello, Crowley. Ah, yes, she’s been using my shop for book reports. She’s a lovely lady and a dear friend.” Aziraphale says wistfully. “Also, she makes a rather decent cup of tea. So, how can I be of help today?”

“Oh, uh, I’m not in need of a book today.” Crowley says and Aziraphale raises a brow, confused as to why the redhead would be here if not for a book. Said redhead raises the paper bag in his hands and holds it out for the blonde to take.

“I, uh, got you these, as thanks for last week.” Aziraphale accepts the bag and peers inside, eyes widening at what he sees.

“Oh my- it went well then, I take it? Your lecture?”

“Swimmingly. You saved me, literally.” Crowley says and Aziraphale hums.

“Will you join me for lunch? You’ve brought a lot, I can’t finish all of these myself.” The blonde laughs and Crowley wills the blush from rising to his cheeks in embarrassment, because he did buy a lot, like one of each pastry they had at the bakery he passed by. He’s really not thinking clearly when it comes to Aziraphale, is he?

“Um, sure, if it’s alright?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t. Do you want something to drink? Tea, or perhaps some coffee?”

“Coffee, please.” It’s a pleasant lunch. Aziraphale is quite a conversationalist, taking a keen interest in the subject Crowley teaches at the university. In turn, Crowley learns a bit of how Aziraphale landed in Soho as a bookshop owner. Quite a tale that one, both amusing and a little bit sad.

“Why did you want to become a botany professor, Crowley, if you don’t mind me asking?” The question catches Crowley off-guard, and he pauses. Aziraphale almost immediately believes he’s overstepped a boundary and is quite ready to backtrack spectacularly awkwardly.

“Well, uh, I guess it began when I was a kid?” Crowley sounds a bit unsure and takes some time to think, because he’s never once been asked that question. “I used to work in a garden-shop back in my hometown. I was good at taking care of the plants and flowers, and I thought it was a bit fun too. The shop-owner liked me well enough, let me come in on the weekends and summer-break. I’m not much for customer service, but I wasn’t so bad at teaching others what I knew, so, yeah.” Very rarely had Crowley’s parents ever praised him for anything he did, from as far back as he can remember until he broke all contact with them six years ago. The shop-owner, on the other hand, oh they had gotten along splendidly. If there’s one person Crowley misses from his hometown, it’s that old man. He gave Crowley his first potted plant and taught him how to take care of them.

“That sounds lovely. You were inspired.”

“Something like that, yeah.” Crowley says and glances at his watch, realizing that he’ll be late for his class if he doesn’t hurry back. So, he excuses himself, but before he can leave, Aziraphale speaks again.

“Until next time then?” And how, _how_ is Crowley supposed to say to that face? To that voice? And so he nods in agreement, because that’s what he wants anyway, to come back.

“Yeah, next time.” He agrees before he finds himself in his Bentley, driving back to campus and walking into his classroom on autopilot.

Aziraphale, on his end, is locking his bookshop for an extended period of time that day, and heads down to the coffee shop, where Jean is working the closing shift.

“Aziraphale?” She blinks when she sees him enter the shop, surprised to see him there, and also a little bit worried about the expression on his face, because he seems, well, uncomfortable.

“Why are you here?”

“My stomach hurts.” She blinks at him, even more confused. “He brought so many pastries, and I ate most of them.”

“You had another lunchbreak after I left?” Jean exclaims, before sighing and leading him to a corner booth.

“I’ll get you something that’ll help with the stomachache.” She tells him.

_Next time_ is three weeks later, give or take a few days. Crowley is at the bookshop after finishing teaching classes for the day, and as Babylon is working overtime, he’s picked up Tonya. And he enters the bookshop with said girl, who looks around in awe at all the books she’s seeing gathered together, and the rows of bookshelves disappearing deep into the shop.

“It looks like a big, old libwawy!” Tonya exclaims, losing her “r” in her excitement as she tugs on her uncle’s hand. “Is this whewe you found the stowies?”

“Yup.” Crowley pops the “p”. “Thought we could find some more together, if he’s got any. You’d like that?”

“Yes!” Tonya exclaims again. Aziraphale appears around a corner of a bookshelf, smiling as he hears Crowley’s voice. The blonde is not above admitting, to himself at least, that he’s been looking forward to when Crowley would find the time to come by again, but he stops short at the sight of Tonya, who stares at him with a blank expression. Aziraphale believes that this is how he’ll be found out, that the little girl will tell Crowley that she had seen Aziraphale stare at him in the coffee shop, and Crowley will think him a weird creep and never come back.

“This is Aziraphale, Tonya. Introduce yourself, won’t you?” Crowley says gently and suddenly Tonya smiles brightly.

“Hello! I’m Tonya, nice to meet you, mister!” She reclaims her control of the sound “r” as she beams up at him. And the utter relief Aziraphale feels at the excited greeting is almost so overwhelming his knees go weak, but he musters up a smile to cover his relief.

“Hello, lady Tonya, I’ve heard about you.”

“Have you?” The girl seems endlessly excited over the prospect that her uncle has told anyone about her, and Aziraphale’s smile widens.

“Oh yes. Your uncle’s told me what kind of fairy tales you like. Are you here to find more?”

“Yes!” Tonya nearly yells, tugging excitedly at her uncle’s hand. “Take me to the fairy tales! Pretty please!”

“Oh my, how polite.” The girl positively glows under the praise, and Crowley chuckles. It’s a low, pleasant rumble, and Aziraphale is finding himself in dire need to turn around to hide the warmth in his cheeks.

“Right this way, my lady.” He leads them further into the bookshop. The girl chatters as they move, telling the shop-owner what she likes and what she wants, and it’s a pleasant sound filling the air around them as Aziraphale works on finding just the right book for the girl. In his quest, he doesn’t quite register that the girl’s gone quiet, until her next words cut through the air and yanks him, quite rudely, back to reality.

“It’s rude to stare at the nice man, uncle Tony.” Aziraphale nearly yanks several books out of the shelf he’s examining as Crowley makes a choked sound that is borderline panicky.

“I _wasn’t!”_

“Yes, you were! It’s not nice to stare!” The girl insists.

“You’re right, it isn’t, and I wasn’t.” Crowley insists, crouching down next to the girl, who looks rather unconvinced with her uncle’s denial.

“I wasn’t staring, Tonya.” The girl pulls enough on his shades that she can see his eyes. Now, the Crowley’s have this particular gift in which they can silently communicate with each other by just staring. It’s a gift Crowley and Beelzebub noticed when they were young when they wanted to avoid their parents picking up on what they were talking about, and taught it to Babylon, who in turn claims that her daughter is especially gifted in the area. Crowley has not been proven otherwise yet, so he gives her a look that tells her she can’t say things like that.

Tonya responds with a look that tells him that if he didn’t want to be called out on it, he should have been more careful.

Crowley tilts his head forward in a way that shows that this isn’t something they will discuss here, in front of the bookseller he stared at.

Tonya looks rather smug, in a way that conveys this final message: Ah, so you _were _staring at him!

“Tonya.” Crowley sighs.

“Okay, okay. I just wanted to tease you.” She huffs and the man rubs the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll tell your mom about this weird behaviour.”

“Will you? Really?” And the girl, a five-year-old, levels him with a challenging smile that is more sharp teeth than anything else, and Crowley blinks, because he sees Beelzebub, and it is rather disturbing.

“You’re… You learned that from auntie Beelz.”

“Yup!” Tonya grins.

“Okay, I won’t mention this to your mom, and you won’t go around saying that every time we visit someone, okay?” She regards him for a minute, before nodding.

“Gotcha!”

“Great.” Crowley mumbles and pushes his glasses back in place, before standing back up, turning back towards Aziraphale, who’s been watching this rather amusing spectacle with a fond smile, when his heart finally stopped pounding in his chest. Crowley coughs, rubbing the back of his head.

“Sorry about that.”

“Oh, no worries.” He says, means it too, before he pulls out a book from the shelf. “I think you’ll enjoy this one, my dear.”

When Crowley drops Tonya off at her home, he tells Babylon that she was an absolute angel, as per usual, before he drives off rather hastily. As the two eat their final meal of the day, in a comfortable silence in their little kitchen, Tonya speaks up suddenly.

“I met someone new today.”

“Oh yeah? Who?” Babylon asks as she takes a sip of her milk.

“Uncle Tony’s new boyfriend.” Now let it be known that the trio’s parents had, until the whole pregnancy debacle, been most proud of Babylon. Beelzebub was harsh, glaring at everything and everyone, and just not a very sociable person who conformed to how society wanted her to be. Crowley, well, he is a disaster in their eyes, through and through, but he owns it. He never let their opinion of him change who he wanted to be. Their parents were so disappointed with their two problem children, they poured all their attention on Babylon, and she appeared to become what they wanted her to be. Graceful, pretty, always knowing what to say, always knowing her place, so _elegant_.

There is nothing elegant about the way she chokes on her milk that evening. Hacking and coughing, Babylon tries to gather herself while her daughter just keeps on eating, as if she’s not said something important or that her mother had just spit her milk out all over the kitchen table, sounding like a dying animal.

“You what?”

“Well, soon-boyfriend.” Tonya says, as if she’s talking about the weather. “They’re not boyfriends yet, but they will be. They stare a lot.” Babylon just stares for a moment, before she gets up, grabs some paper towels, cleans up her mess, and sits prim and proper in her chair, resting her chin on her laced fingers.

“Please, Tonya, tell me more.” And the girl grins, like the cat that got the cream, and proceeds to tell her mother all that she saw when she was with her uncle Anthony today.

* * *

“Aziraphale, love, I care for you a great deal, so I’m just going to say this.” Jean says when she visits that evening, reaching out from her seat in her armchair to grab a hold of his hands, rubbing her thumbs soothingly over his knuckles for a few moments. Aziraphale leans a bit closer too, somewhat comforted by her warm smile after everything he told her of today, with Crowley and his niece and the whole spectacle that nearly had his heart jumping out of his chest. Jean will say something to calm him down properly, something that will make him feel better, something that will make sure he doesn’t overthink and make a fool of himself whenever Crowley comes back next. Because he will, won’t he?

“Yes?”

“_Call that bloody number already!”_

_“No!”_

“Do it! I’m not going to threaten you with me telling him if you don’t, because that’s just low, but he’s been here several times, he brought you _pastries_, he brought his niece, he _is coming up with reasons to visit you!_”

“He had perfectly good reasons every time he came here.” Aziraphale shakes his head, quite adamant in his assessment and suddenly Jean looks almost sad for him, furrowing her brows together as she tilts her head.

“Oh Aziraphale, you’re not… thinking badly of yourself, are you?” Aziraphale is about to tell her that no, no of course he doesn’t, but that would be lying, and Jean knows him well enough by now to see straight through any half-hearted attempt he may make to shift the subject.

“Well, I… I mean, look at him and then… look at me?” He is supposed to sound a bit more nonchalant about it, like it doesn’t really bother him because Aziraphale is perfectly happy with being by himself, he always has been. Yet he doesn’t sound nonchalant, his voice is quiet, uncertain and frankly miserable.

“No, no, no, sweetheart, don’t think that.” Jean squeezes his hands comfortingly. “You’re sweet, handsome and the kindest soul I’ve ever met. You’re absolutely perfect the way you are, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” She assures him with that tiny little smile she usually wears when she tells him everything will be okay.

“I won’t push anymore, not if you feel like this. But he comes by way too often for you to worry about him not taking a shine to you. No one actually comes by with a gift of baked goods just because someone did their job well around them, that’s not normal, at least not sitting with them during lunchbreak and enjoying said treats with them, that’s not normal. This is the last I’ll say on the matter; You should be more confident in yourself, because you’re worth it, believe me, you’re worth it.”

“I’d… I’d like it if you don’t mention it anymore, yes. I know you mean well, but… it’s hard.” Jean nods and presses a kiss to the top of his head after she’s moved to sit on the armrest of his chair. It’s good to know he’s got her at least, and Aziraphale does believe her when she tells him all these lovely things about himself. It makes him feel better.

So the next time, when Aziraphale is visited by Crowley and they are sitting in the chairs by the register eating some pastries Crowley brought with him, and with Crowley telling Aziraphale how the books he’s bought from him has been something Tonya demands being read to her every night, the blonde is perfectly relaxed. She absolutely loves them, the redhead tells the blonde, adding that she really liked the bookshop and that he might bring her along whenever they need a new story. And Aziraphale is feeling warm, comfortable and courageous, Jean’s words still echoing in his mind, and Crowley is smiling and gesturing as he talks, and he seems so relaxed and friendly, and completely different from when Aziraphale first saw him, and sketched him, at the coffee shop. He had seemed so sad and troubled then, and truly, Aziraphale had been captivated by that back then, and _truly_, he wants to draw the man more, because now, with these enthusiastic gestures and almost wide smile, it makes the bookshop owner’s hands itch.

“My apologies, Crowley, I need to make a phone call. Do you mind?” The words are out in the open now, and Crowley looks slightly confused. Well, the parts of his face not hidden by the sunglasses seem to suggest so, but the redhead nods anyways. If any nerves were to make any appearances, Aziraphale believes they should do so after he’s actually dialled any number.

“Yeah, sure.” Aziraphale gets up from his chair and moves to the cash register, where an old looking phone is situated. Crowley wonders about it. The few times he’s been here, he’s noticed that everything seems really old. It’s not a bad thing, the shop is wonderful and homey with this kind of décor, and thus, the redhead isn’t all that surprised that even the phone looks to be quite the outdated model. He watches the blonde as he grabs the phone, and then from beneath the counter, he picks up a piece of paper- no, wait, that’s a napkin.

_‘What does he need a napkin for?’_ And then he watches as Aziraphale unfolds the napkin, and the redhead realizes that whatever number he’s about to call is most likely scribbled down on said napkin. And the redhead feels a bit awkward because it’s not normal to have a number scribbled down on a napkin, really. The usual reasons are that someone slipped him their number, and that kind of sucks for Crowley, but it’s too late to stop him now and it will be really weird if he just suddenly stands up and says he has to go-

He’s startled out of his thoughts as his own phone starts ringing and he struggles a bit before he manages to fish it out of his pocket. He frowns at the screen, because it’s not a number he recognizes, and he contemplates just pressing the end-call button, because he’s not in the habit of answering numbers he doesn’t know, but then again, it might be a student of his who maybe needs some help with a thesis or whatever, so he answers.

“Hello?”

“_Hi.” _It takes Crowley ten whole seconds to realize exactly whose voice he hears on the other end, and he turns to stare at Aziraphale who, despite his rather brilliantly red face, is staring straight at him, appearing nervous but determined.

“_This is the artist from the coffee shop.”_ And Crowley well and truly _cannot _believe what is happening.

“_I was wondering if you’re still willing to model for me?” _


	4. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is quite the nervous man. He shouldn't have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support! This is where it ends, sadly, but all good things come to an end. I hope you enjoy this as much as you have enjoyed everything else! Thank you all again, much love!

_Crowley stares at the man standing behind the register, the man holding the phone which is currently connected to his mobile phone, the man who is resolutely looking straight at him as he speaks into the receiver that he is the artist who drew Crowley in the coffee shop and gave him that absolutely beautiful picture and now he is finally, _finally_ calling- _

_Wait, coffee shop, drawing, Aziraphale equals artist, waitress-lady is…_

_She bloody knew! The sly, little fox fucking knew! She bloody knew and that is why she sent him here, to this exact bookshop, with such a peculiar description of the owner! She’s been playing matchmaker, the little shit. Oh when he gets his hands on her, he’ll frigging give her the biggest _fucking bouquet _she’s ever received and-_

_But even as his brain reels from all this new information, Crowley is left to just stare at Aziraphale flabbergasted, and the blonde artist feels his nerves finally starting to catch up as the ginger just stares at him, slack-jawed, and Crowley is starting to realize that he is just staring at the man, not saying anything and that is bad, isn’t it? He’s probably giving the man a completely wrong reaction to this whole revelation and he needs to talk to him, say something!_

_Oh, but there are so many things he wants to say, like for example that he is so utterly happy that Aziraphale finally called, that he is ecstatic to learn that the bookshop owner he finds so damn adorable is the same person as the artist who cheered him up that day, that _fuck yes_ the offer is still on the bloody table! _

_And he opens his mouth to tell the man exactly that. _

_“Ngk?” _

\---XXX---XXX

The first time Aziraphale meets Babylon, he is quite nervous. Crowley has told him that she’s just an adult version of Tonya, but Aziraphale can’t quite bring himself to believe the redhead. It’s not like he doesn’t know what the woman looks like, because, well, the day he drew Crowley she was also at the coffee shop. So, yes, he’ll be able to pick her out, and when the moment comes that he’ll catch sight of her when she and Tony comes towards them, he will have time to gather his nerves.

Except for when he finally sees her come into the coffee shop, (they’re all meeting on neutral ground), and Crowley raises his hand and waves them over, Aziraphale feels his nerves hitting him hard, like someone punched him in the stomach, and it’s hard to breathe. This woman might be nice, Aziraphale knows she is, because Crowley speaks of her with such warmth, but that doesn’t make things any easier for the blonde male. Because he’s only been in a relationship with Crowley for a month, and oh dear he has always been absolutely terrible with his partner’s families and-

“Hello, you must be Aziraphale.” He blinks, before swallowing his nervousness the best he can.

“Oh, yes, I am. It is very nice to meet you.” He reaches out and shakes her hand. She is all smiles and warmth, and it is nice being there, the four of them. Tonya has already abandoned her chair to sit in her uncle’s lap, taking his shades and putting them on herself. It is rather adorable, until Crowley excuses himself and leaves for the bathroom. Aziraphale is left alone with the two female Crowley’s and Babylon’s warm smile is suddenly a _little _bit scary as she rests her chin in her hand, staring at him.

“Um, is something wrong?” He dares to ask, and her smile widens.

“You’re a rather nervous fella, aren’t you?” Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear-

“No need to be.” She tells him as Tonya clambers up onto her mother’s lap. “I’m not in the habit of scaring off Anthony’s partners.” And Aziraphale lets out a rather relieved sigh.

“I’m not worried about that, it’s just… well, I have a track-record with my partner’s families.”

“Not going to ask.” Babylon says as she takes the shades from her daughter, who twists in her lap and tries to take them back, but the woman holds them out of her reach.

“I’m not in the habit of judging people either. You seem like a nice man, so I hope Anthony can make you happy.”

“Isn’t it the other way around?” Aziraphale asks, confused. “Shouldn’t you want me to make Anthony happy?”

“You’ve already done that.” She says with such sincerity Aziraphale almost bursts out crying right then and there. She looks alarmed, reaching across the table to grab his hand, asking him what’s wrong. He sniffs and shakes his head, mustering up a sincere smile at her.

“Nothing, I’m just glad you don’t dislike me.”

“Dislike you? He had the shittiest day he’s ever experienced, and then he comes home and shows me this drawing someone made of him and it had cheered him up immensely. You were already in my good books back then, but can I ask you something?” She asks him and he nods.

“Of course.” ¨

“Why did it take you so long to call him?” And it’s a question Crowley haven’t asked him, because it seems like Crowley is quite satisfied with just getting that phone-call, and Aziraphale thinks now that it all ended well, that he had a rather cute reaction to the whole scene. He had turned almost as red as his hair when his tongue failed him.

“Well, I was a bit nervous, really, and, well, he looked so sad and troubled back then, and I didn’t want to intrude, even if he offered to model again. I thought it was for the best that I let him be, for a little while at least. But then Christmas happened, and New Years, and suddenly we were at the end of January, then February. I thought I had let too much time pass, that it would only be weird if I suddenly called him. But I truly did want to.”

“I’m going to tell you something you absolutely must not tell him.” Babylon says conspiratorially and he leans forward a bit.

“He really was waiting for that phone call up to the point you actually called.” And Aziraphale flushes a bright red again, stammering just as Crowley takes a seat by their table again. He takes one look at Aziraphale, who is blushing and stuttering and looking helpless, and then turns towards Babylon.

“You’re not scaring him off, are you?”

“Why, I would never!” Babylon says, sounding highly offended as she lays a hand on her chest, leaning back in her seat.

“That’s right, uncle Tony!” Tonya jumps in. “We would never!” Feigning just as much offence as her mother, and Aziraphale hurries to assure his partner that no, they are not attempting at scaring him off. The blonde man is just a bit overwhelmed. Crowley wants to know what causes it, and all three tells him it’s nothing. He truly does not buy it.

Aziraphale meets them quite often, is even invited over for dinner sometimes and he finds that rather nice. It is much better than sitting alone in the flat above his shop, at the very least. No, perhaps it is more correct to say that it has _become _better than staying at his flat alone. But while Aziraphale gets along well with Babylon, and the adorable creature that is Tonya, he has yet to meet the oldest Crowley sibling. He imagines her, at first, to be a lot like the other two, and when he voices that, Crowley and Babylon share a look, before shaking their heads.

“Beelz is, well, she’s nice, she really is-

“Beelz isn’t someone you want to be on the bad side of.” Crowley says finally, cutting Babylon off. “Beelz is a good person, just don’t piss them off.”

“That’s so misleading, Anthony. You’re scaring him more than I ever could. Beelzebub isn’t that bad, truly. She’s nice once you get to know her.” Babylon frowns as Tonya laughs across the table.

“Auntie Beelz is nice, she is, she is. You’re just scared of her because she’s older, uncle Tony.”

“I am not!” And suddenly, the girl and adult man is doing that staring thing they did at his shop again, and Aziraphale watches in amazement as they appear to be communicating with looks alone until Babylon stabs her fork into her beef.

“No _Crowsations_ at the kitchen table, not when we have guests! Also, Aziraphale, you’ll be fine. Beelzebub won’t do anything to you, trust me. Anthony just likes being a drama queen. He does that sometimes.”

“Oh, that I have noticed.”

“Hey…”

And then, as summer vacation rolls along, Beelzebub returns to London, for the first time since New Years. Crowley admits to being a bit nervous himself, letting Beelzebub meet his new partner, especially when it isn’t that long ago since she helped him get all his stuff from his former partner, because truly, she had been remarkably pissed off back then. It’s nice to know she was angry on his behalf, that she cares enough to take to his defence like that, like she did for Babylon back when she was tossed out of their home. Crowley just hopes she won’t go full on defence-lawyer on Aziraphale when she meets him. Because Aziraphale is not like Lucifer. He’s too sweet for that. It’s different with Aziraphale than it was with Lucifer, truly. Aziraphale is happy just spending time with him, he doesn’t demand to know where or why Crowley is going out, or where he is at every time of the day. And the way he lights up when Crowley walks into the bookshop, now that is something that helps build the redhead’s shattered self-confidence. Crowley feels cared for, truly, and he’s getting the affection and intimacy he’s been craving. It’s all soft, comfortable and just _incredibly nice _with Aziraphale. That’s what Crowley needs too.

So when he and Aziraphale is at Babylon and Tonya’s home, and Beelzebub enters the apartment, the one who is the most nervous might actually be Crowley. Beelzebub isn’t the hugging type, with the exception of Tonya because she demands it of the dark-haired woman and no one can deny her anything, but with the others she only gives a nod.

“Beelzebub!” Babylon calls from the kitchen, popping her head out for just a second to say: Glad you could make it! Before disappearing back inside. And Crowley waits for it, waits for Beelzebub to turn her attention on Aziraphale and scare him so bad he’ll run out the door and never look back, but to his surprise, she reaches out and shakes his hand in a firm grip with a simple greeting and no threats, and then they actually have a normal conversation about old works of Oscar bloody Wilde?! When Aziraphale excuses himself as Tonya calls for him and asks him to read to her, Crowley sidles up to Beelzebub.

“I didn’t know you read?” Crowley says quietly and Beelzebub rolls her eyes.

“I do read, quite a lot actually.”

“Okay.” Crowley nods before nodding after Aziraphale, who has pulled a rather large book in his lap alongside Tonya.

“So what do you think? Of Aziraphale?” He hates how quiet he sounds, uncertain, as if Beelzebub actually will poke a giant hole in his bubble and tell him to stop being stupid, stop being so eager to please others, stop being such a naïve fool. Because he knows he’s fallen into those traps before, but really this time… _this time!_

“Seems nice enough.” Beelzebub says with a shrug. “ A bit old-fashioned though, but not going to hold that against him. Chivalry isn’t dead, it seems.” She turns to look at him, before pulling him a bit away from everyone so they can talk a bit more freely. She levels him with a look.

“You want our approval.”

“No, I’m, no-“ Crowley begins to argue, because that isn’t why he asked, is it?

“You want it, subconsciously, you’re asking for it. But you don’t need it, not really. Lucifer did something shitty, and you don’t want to fall into that trap again, but you said yourself over the phone that Aziraphale here is nothing like him, and I believed you. I’ve met the man now, and I agree. Good man, so I’m telling you that. We approve. But you shouldn’t have to worry about what we feel, as long as you’re okay, cared for and happy.” Crowley stares at her for a long moment, before he swallows, and of course, because he is Anthony J. Crowley, he says this, instead of thanking her.

“I didn’t even think half of those words existed in your vocabulary.” That earns him a sharp punch to his arm and he yelps loudly, loud enough for everyone to hear, even Babylon who is preparing their food.

“_No_ fighting in my home!” Babylon calls from the kitchen, in a very stern “mother” voice, and the two Crowley’s in question exchange glares before heading back in for the others to see them.

“We’re not fighting.” The two of them says simultaneously and Babylon pokes her head out again, eyes narrowed. She doesn’t believe them for a second, and her glare tells them that. Both of the Crowley sulks as they wait for Babylon to finish cooking, shooting each other glares every now and then, sometimes appearing extremely offended after the exchange of a glare, and Aziraphale just sits there, staring in wonder.

“Is that normal?” He asks Tonya who giggles and nods.

“Every time. That’s how they show they love each other. It’s really funny to watch.” She tells him and Aziraphale smiles. To have such a close relationship with your family that you can joke around like this… it sounds nice. Dinner is enjoyed without a hitch, and when it’s over, and goodbyes have been exchanged, Crowley drives Aziraphale back to the bookshop, and comes inside for the evening tea they always share whenever they have been out and the redhead has driven Aziraphale home. As Aziraphale messes around in the backroom of his shop, Crowley takes a seat on the settee and waits for Aziraphale to come out with the tea. He sees the vase with the bouquet of roses he had gotten the blonde a few days earlier, still pretty and completely bloomed now, and an idea strikes him.

When Aziraphale exits the backroom, he stops short at the sight of Crowley draped out on the settee, the four top buttons of his shirt unbuttoned, showing a freckled chest, arms cast out to make it seem like he is the most comfortable human being on earth right now, with a rose in his right hand.

“Angel, draw me like one of your French girls.” He rumbles, trapping the stem of the rose between his teeth, wiggling his brows.

Now, what Crowley expects to happen, is Aziraphale shakily putting the cups down on the table, flushing a bright, adorable red as he always does when he gets flustered, and the blonde gets flustered quite often and quite easily, and Crowley enjoys seeing his skin turn so red. It’s adorable. Now, that is what Crowley expects to happen. What _does actually _happen, is that Aziraphale stares at him for a moment or two, before he calmly sets the cups down on the table, goes back to the backroom, comes out with a sketchbook, a bottle of wine and a glass, sets it down in front of Crowley, and fills it, before taking a seat in the chair across from the table. He undoes the tartan bowtie around his neck with one hand, unbuttons a few buttons himself, adjusts his glasses and leans back in his seat.

“Well then. _Strip.”_ He says calmly, all professional as he taps his pencil to the paper.

Crowley’s jaw drops to the floor. 


End file.
